w^^i/^'^^ 




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THE 



SCARLET OAK 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BV 



JULIA P. BALLARD 
ANNIE LENTHAL SMITH 




NErW YORK 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

182 Fifth Avenue 
1878 



X 



CONTENTS. 



SCARLET OAK, 3 

THE PERSIAN CROCUS, 5 

LENTEN FLOWERS, 7 

THE dial's SON(i, 8 

POND LILIES, lO 

A MID-DAY STAR, 12 

THE HOURS DIE, 13 

SUNSET ON LAKE HURON, l6 

''DONA NOBIS PACEM ! " 17 

THE SPINDLE CROSS, ...... I9 

"more LIGHT ! " 22 

TO-DAY, 24 

WORLD WITHOUT END, ...... 26 

"many things are growing CLEAR," . . 29 

FLOWERS AND MOSSES FROM STONEHENGE, . . 32 

MARCH, 33 

SNOW STORM IN APRIL, 35 

I WOULD DRAW NIGH, 37 



IV CONTENTS. 

THE SEARCH, 4^ 

CLOUDS, 42 

SUNSHINE, 43 

NOTICED, 44 

MAY INCOGNITO, 45 

MAY CROWNED, 4^ 

TWO LESSONS, 47 

JUNE 49 

TRANSPLANTED, 5° 

IT IS JUNE, 52 

THREE FEET AROUND. ON HOOSAC MOUNTAIN, . 54 

WATER LILIES, 5^ 

TO THE MUMMY, IN WHOSE HAND LORD LINDSAY 
FOUND A BULB WHICH PRODUCED A BEAUTIFUL 

DAHLIA, 59 

wood mosses, . « 60 

a bouquet, ....... 62 

a lenten butterfly, ...... 63 

here and there, 65 

" and they also which pierced him. ' . . 6^ 

daybreak, 69 

petrarch and laura, 70 

"licht! liebe ! leiben ! " 72 

** i will ransom them," 74 

"the LAST TOKEN," 76 



CONTENTS. V 

NO IDOL IN THE HAND NO IDOL IN THE HEART, 79 

"non OMNIS MORIAR," 82 

BEGINNING TO SINK, 85 

THE FRINGED GENTIAN, 87 

THE MIMOSA, 89 

"at EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT," . . 9I 
COMMUNION OF THE THREE PASTORS OF ZURICH, 

APRIL, 1525, 93 

THE SOMBER SAIL, ...... 94 

THE HIDING PLACE, ...... 96 

GARNERED, 99 

THE PEACE OF THE MOUNTAINS, .... lOO 

THE OCTOBER SNOW, I02 

A NOVEMBER PICTURE, I03 

SILENCE, ... ... 105 

"l PASS THIS WAY BUT ONCE," . . . 107 

" GIVE ME GREAT THOUGHTS ! " . . . I09 

ROBBING THE WOODS, 112 

MAY, 114 

WATCH FOR THE DOVE, « . » , . II5 



THE 

SCARLET OAK 



SCARLET OAK. 

JUST on the verge of winter storms and cold, 
Throwing warm brightness round the autumn 
day 
Which touches tenderly each graceful spray ; 
In beauties marvelous and manifold — 
Inwrapped in flame like martyr saints of old, 
Yet all erect and fearless of decay — 
When other trees are quite bereft and gray — 
These Scarlet Oaks reign, monarchs of the wold ! 
They had their flowering May; their polish'd leaves 
In summer time gave back with brightness new 
The sunbeam's glance. For them the autumn 
weaves 



4 SCARLET OAK. 

A robe of scarlet, flecked with crimson hue : 
Beauty and strength, touch'd with an airy grace, 
Most highly favored of their favored race ! 

A. L. S. 



THE PERSIAN CROCUS. 



PURE white, from hidden bulb beneath the mold 
To bright and golden stamens in the bell ; 

Pure as the snowflake ere to earth it fell ; 
All pearl, except that inner hint of gold. 
Just what was wrapped within the central fold 

Of that dark foreign bulb I could not tell. 

The purple ball had kept its secret well, 
'Till suddenly it seemed to cry, '' Behold ! " 
From the dark box, where half forgot it lay 

With other bulbs that still their secret keep. 
Was it because thus hidden from the ray 

Of sunlight, left in gloom awhile to sleep, 
That now such heavenly lights about it play 

As almost make a sin-stained heart to weep ? 



6 THE PERSIAN CROCUS. 

II. 

All flowers bring messages, if we will hear-^ 
Soft whispers, from a world we do not see. 
Some hint how " rainbows round the throne 
may be. 

Somehow gold crowns for ransomed ones appear, 

And some of thorns the Sinless One did wear ; 
And purple dyes and crimson stains agree 
In whispering how his sorrows set us free 

Who scorn and shame and death for us did bear. 

And some — fair Crocus, thou art surely one — 
Come for a moment just to let us know 

What robes are ready when earth's cares are done, 
For those, sin-stained and travel-worn below, 

Who, washed and sanctified, through that Pure One, 

Shall " walk in white" before the Eternal Throne. 

J. P. B. 



LENTEN FLOWERS. 

IN Lenten time came Summer flowers to me: 
With rose and golden hyacinths of spring, 
Fair, pink azaleas whisper'd cheerily 

Of rosy joys the future days might bring ; 
Without, the wintry wind swept lawn and lea. 
But Lenten days brought summer flowers to me. 

So many Lents in Life — the radiancy 
Of Easter morning doth so rarely come, 

I would some words of mine might fragrant be. 
To one in sorrow, when these lips are dumb, 

Saying, dear heart ! weeping is for the night, 

Lo, Easter hastens with its golden light ! 

A. L. S. 



Y 



THE DIAL'S SONG. 

"/ Mark the Hours that Shine:' 

'OU may pry 'mid the wild rose entangled 
around me, 

And peer through the storm at my weather-worn 
face, 
But then you will leave me as wise as you found 
me ; — 
Of days that are cloudy, no record I trace: 
I mark the hours that shine ! 

You may come when the sun through the blue sky 
is streaming, 
And lighting my face with a glad, golden glow. 
And learn from a glance at my countenance gleam- 
ing, 
Just all that a sun-dial ever can show ; 

I mark the hours that shine ! 



THE DIALS SONG. 9 

When trial my heart is o'erclouding with sorrow, 
I'll hide in the shadow my burden to bear; 

No friend, though he seek, shall be able to borrow 
A record of coldness, desertion or care ; 

I mark the hours that shine ! 

But come when the sunshine of Love streams about 
me, 
And lights up my face with a glad golden glow, 
And then you will know, for I cannot conceal it, 
Just all that the soul-dial ever can show, 
I mark the hours that shine ! 

J. P. B. 



POND LILIES. 

OF all the blooms in Summer's coronal, 
None seem so fair, so mystical, to me. 
As these Pond Lilies, rising from the depths — 
Mysterious in their birth and death, alike. 

On the still surface of the lucid lake 

How gracefully they float ! — Broad leaves of green 

Upbear the incense-laden chalices, 

That shed rich fragrance, till the summer air 

Sails freighted like some eastern Argosy. 

There petals pale enfolding close their wealth, 
Their hoarded wealth of choicest spicery — 
Rare ivory caskets with the perfume sealed — 
Or, rather, spirits white, with sweetest thoughts. 
Here all enveloped in their sepals dark. 
As sheathed in mortal, the immortal part — 
Whilst other some, wide to the air unfold 
Their blossoms fair with petals golden rayed. 




, 'i 



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i lb i! 



POND LILIES. 1 1 

When night with dusky veil and robe draws nigh, 
When frightful shapes and specters stalk abroad, 
Then hides the Lily in her crystal home, 
Watched in her slumbers by the far-off star, 
But wakens in the Morning's golden smile. 

I've seen them gently fall asleep and die, 

But not as roses die, whose sad decay 

Shows strangely 'mid their robes of royalty ; 

Firmly the Lily locks her fingers white, 

A.nd should you rudely strive to loose their hold, 

A flutter — and a gasp — then all is o'er ! 

Dead ! with no curious gaze of prying eyes. 

O, weave a garland of these Lily buds 

For Genius, with its rare thoughts early fled, 

And they shall speak to thee of Life from Death ! 

Unmindful of the Winter's storm and frost. 

They sleep securely in the lake's dark depths. 

Till Spring comes searching for them, and they rise, 

To give no hint in their bright purity 

Of the dim dungeons where they tarried long. 

A. L. S. 



A MID-DAY STAR. 

DARK clouds were drifting o'er a summer 
sky, 
Whose checkered light and gloom my gaze had won ; 
What little things, methought, blot out the sun ! 
How we grope darkly if a cloud flits by ! 
Then, as I watched their drifting play, afar, 
A sight was given, most beautiful, most rare : 
Four dark clouds met, forming a hollow square 
From out whose azure center, shone a star 
Bright with a luster which no cloud can mar. 

Though clouds alone revealed its presence there. 
Then, quickly parting, they were wafted on, 
And lo, the star from out the blue was gone ! 
Lost to my sight, but never to my mind 
The heaven-taught lesson which it left behind. 

J. P. B. 



THE HOURS DIE. 

Olife, so rich in wondrous harmonies 
And signs foretokening celestial skies, 

Thy priceless hours die ! . 
The morning hours, when robes of radiant mist, 
Silver and gold, and royal amethyst 
Drape the rough hills until their summits gleam 
With all the beauty of an artist's dream. 
When fleecy vapors rise from steep to steep. 
And white birds cleave the far-off, azure deep ; 

The Morning hours die ! 

The hours die ! 
O life intense, O anxious, eager life ! 
Amid the breathless haste, amid the strife, 

Thy noon-tide hours die ! 
Upon the brilliant sky no threat'ning cloud. 
No thund'rous echoes give the warning loud, 
Yet, Man, thy Present into Past doth glide, 
Nor Noon's bright hours may with thee abide ; 



14 THE HOURS DIE 

Thou on the dusty highway — they afar 

Shall soar in their triumphal, fiery car ; 

Thy Noon-tide hours fly 1 

The hours die ! 
O " many-colored " life ! O life of change, 
Real and earnest, yet than dreams more strange, 

Thy Sun-set hours die ! 
Die royally, upon a golden throne, 
Bedecked with rarer gems than monarchs own. 
Whilst fitfully, the deep, empurpled sea 
Moans for the hours that no more shall be. 
But the bright stars, assiduous courtiers, soon 
Shall haste with homage to the royal moon ; 

The Sun-set hours die ! 

The hours die ! 
O sad and tearful life ! O life of thought, 
Of plans unfinished, of good dimly sought, 

Thy Twilight hours die ! 
Ling' ring awhile around the lifeless Day, 
From which the death-smile hath not passed away, 
Dropping in silence sweet, refreshing tears, 
And watching till the Star of Hope appears, 



THE HO URS DIE. 1 5 

With their regrets and tender memories, 
With their deep thoughts of never-fading skies, 
The twilight hours die ! 

The hours die ! 
Mysterious Hfe ! nearing the mystic sea 
Which spreads around us, vast Eternity, 

Thy Midnight hours die ! 
So near — so near to heaven — yet these, alas, 
With all their starry honors quickly pass ; 
As shipwrecked swimmers 'neath some chilling wave, 
'Mid cold and darkness they shall find their grave; 
O Man, unmindful that the sweeping surge 
The finite in the infinite doth merge, 

The Midnight hours die ! 

A. L. S. 



SUNSET ON LAKE HURON. 

HURON'S blue waters oped their trembling 
lips, 
And swallowed up the round, red evening sun ; 
*' Think he will rise again, my little one?" 

I asked, as, gazing 'twixt two wandering ships 
Where he had disappeared, in strange eclipse, 

My little girl stood silent as a nun. 
The moment's fear gave place — sweet faith was 
born — 
'* Yes, he will come again to-morrow morn. 
He always comes to us with morning light. 

No matter where he falls asleep at night ;" 
And so she clapped her hands with joy, to trace 

The rosy veil upon the water's face, 
Which rosier clouds, free-floating far above, 
Threw down in parting token of their love. 

J. P. B. 



" DONA NOBIS PACEM ! " 

MID the soft azure of the Indian sea,* 
A rainbow danced upon each crested wave, 
And the blue sky, in its serenity. 

Its cloudless splendor, the fair promise gave 

Of Peace — sweet Peace ! 

When suddenly athwart the tranquil heaven 

Red vapor swept like some fierce bird unbound ; 

Yet when by lightning our frail bark was riven, 
Still rested fairest peace on all around ! 

Ah Peace — false Peace ! 

Oh it was hard from the rich azure light 

To go with Death to the dark depths below, 

Of all this lavished beauty lose the sight, 
And Nature smiling calmly on such woe ! 

Ah Peace — false Peace ! 



1 8 ''DONA NOBIS PACEM!'' 

Bathed in the golden bliss of morn, I said, 
O soul rejoice, there is no cloud for thee ; 

Nor past upbraids, nor future dost thou dread. 
All brightly tranquil as a summer's sea ! 

Sweet Peace — sweet Peace 

His footfall lost amid the springing flowers, 
We could not hear the stealthy step of Woe: 

Oh, transient rapture of the early hours ! 
Oh, lasting anguish we were yet to know ! 

Ah Peace —false Peace ! 

Thou, thou who saidst to wind and wave, "■ Be still ! " 
When swept the tempest o'er Genneseret's lake. 

The Avaves of sorrow own thy sovereign will. 
To human suffering thou art still awake. 

Give, give us Peace ! 

*For an account of this " tempest mid light " see St. Pierre in his 
" Studies from Nature," vol. 2. 

A. L. S. 



THE SPINDLE CROSS. 

'*" I ^IS but the sighing of the Autumn wind, 

JL Sweeping through heavy-laden holly boughs, 
Rustling the close-leaved foliage of the yew, 
Parting the boughs of the Arbutus tree. 
Whose brilliant fruit no deeper scarlet shows 
From out its wealth of green, and still fair flowers, 
Than glows upon the traveler's guilty cheek. 
He, starting at each sound, with new-born fear, 
Presses with weary feet his Pilgrim way, 
Man's darkest secret buried in his breast. 

'' In vain ye mock me with your bloody show! 
What if a deeper stain my hands have known ? 
'Tis a short journey to the Stony Cross, 
There, what is crimson shall be turned to snow !" 

Then on the pilgrim speeds his v/eary way, 
Through bog and brake and mountain passes wild ; 



20 THE SPINDLE CROSS. 

One moment pausing, where a deep round pool, 
The '* Devil's Punch Bowl," mirrors back the lines 
Deep-furrowed in his brow by smothered guilt. 

Up the steep side of Skelig now he mounts ; 
With steady eye bent on its beetling crags 
He threads the one lone pilgrim-beaten path, 
And gains the top — a small flat floor of rock 
Sloping to sea-ward, in a slender tongue 
Beneath whose fearful out-look, foams the sea. 
Here creeping out upon this rocky spit 
He gains a cross, which, centuries gone by. 
Spurred on perchance by need as dire as his, 
Some hand had chiselled on the spindle's point. 

Three times on the cold stone his lips are pressed. 
Three times, with groans that might have melted 

rock. 
He pours his dark confessions 'neath the cross. 

Can man-devised penance aught avail? 

Has the deep crimson changed to spotless snow? 

^ -)f * 4f * -x- 

The wind still murmured 'mid the close-leaved 
yews — 



THE SPINDLE CROSS. 21 

Again he started ! and, again the leaves 

Of the Arbutus parting, he exclaimed 

" Ye need not mock me with your bloody show ! 

What though the rugged steep be climbed in vain? 

The cross return no answering kiss of peace? 

Ye need not mock me with your bloody show ! " 

More fearful than the rustling of the yew, 
The sudden plash within the awful '' Bowl : " 
The pitying waters parted to receive, 
And, in a moment calmly slept above 
The unshriven pilgrim to the Spindle Cross. 

J. P. B. 



''MORE LIGHT!" 

The Dying I Fords of Goethe. 

MORE light ! more light ! — why fade they from 
my view, 
The fair, bright forms to which my soul hath clung ? 
Have I not been to nature, loving — true. 

Speaking her praises with a willing tongue? 
Yet while the glory rests on flower and tree, 
A dark veil hides her radiant face from me ! 

More light ! more light I" 

Ah ! gifted one ! whose dying words, thus spoken. 
Thrill our sad souls like some lone wind-harp's 
moan, 
Anxious we wish for an unfailing token 

That thou wert not in death's dark vale alone ; 
Since only One, when those black shadows lower, 
Can use the fiat of almighty power, 

'' Let there be light." 

" More light ! more light ! "—implores the broken- 
hearted ; 



''MORE LIGHT!" 2^ 

** Why live I yet beside a ruined shrine? 
Why here to say, the glory hath departed ? 

I worshipped what was falsely fair and fine, 
As the stained marble seems 'neath silver light 
Of magic moonbeams, beautiful and white, 

False — false — as bright ! " 

More light ! more light ! — the yearning cry of sorrow, 
Which o'er some green grave bends in anguish 
deep ; 
Tell us — O, tell — will not a bright to-morrow 
To us restore the lost for whom we weep ? 
Why have they left us in life's golden dawn ? 
And " do they love us yet " — the friends we mourn ? 

More light — more light ! 

By our weak, fitful lights we fondly try. 

As eager through " the crypts of life " * we pore 
To read the sculptured stones which the Most High 

Hath finely traced with words of hidden lore ; 
Our lamps go out, and we are left to pray, 
At length, to Him who turneth night to day. 

For light — more light. 
* "We walk, as it were, in the crypts of life." — Longfellow. 

A. L. S. 



TO-DAY. 

" 'Tis the measure of a man — his apprehension of a day." — Emer- 
son. 

AS mountain meres reflect the purple heights, 
And rosy tints of morn, and evening sky, 
So, on this azure day, fall changing lights 

And solemn shadows from eternity ! 
Not isolated is this fair To-Day — 

'Tis filled and fed from the o'erflowing past, 
The while its silver streamlet steals away 
Into a sea unfathomable and vast. 

This man, whom angels watch with eagerness. 

Regardless of the loving angels' care. 
Regardless of Almighty power to bless. 

Regardless of the subtle tempter's snare, 
Saith to himself, "a little slumber "still, 

''A little folding of the hands to sleep — 
Soul, take thine ease ! " — Oh, hard of heart, of will 

Perverse, awake ! and for thy lost days weep ! 



TO-DAY. 25 

Move thoughtfully, my soul ! lest some calm day 
Christ near thee walking thou shalt not perceive 

Till he, unwelcomed, vanish from thy way ! 

And thou, to-morrow, o'er thy blindness grieve. 

Let each day be the Lord's Day, until light 
Shall shine upon thee, where is no more night. 

A. L. S. 



WORLD WITHOUT END. 

IS. XLV. : 17. 
ORLD without end ! 



w 



Is it where blossoms open, fade, and 

fall, 
While sun and dew yet plead with mournful call? 

Is it where sparkling fountains cease to play — 

Where beds of wasted rivers cross our way? 

World without end ! 
Is it where islands sink beneath the main? 
Where bowing hills become a weary plain? 
Where mountains by the roots are overturned, 
Rolled from the rocks, and in His anger burned ? 

World without end ! 
Is it where proudest cities lie a waste ; 
To build whose walls the '' sons of strangers" haste? 
Where fretting waters leap and laugh to scorn 
The prostrate marble of the centuries born? 



WORLD WITHOUT END. 2/ 

World without end ! 
Is it where monarchs at a touch turn pale 
And pass alone into the silent vale ? 
Where rulers faint, where statesmen drop from sight — 
And all are hidden in swift coming night ? 

World without end ! 
Is it where like a simple parchment scroll 
The very heavens together He shall roll? 
Where suns are darkened, moons to blood are turned, 
With fervent heat the elements are burned ? 

World without end ! 
Where is it? Who can find so strange a land ? 
Where the foundations evermore shall stand ? 
Where change is kept forever from the door? 
Where hope shall cheat the trusting ones, no more ? 

World without end ! 
Where rosy morning ne'er shall yield to night. 
Where perfect blossoms. never know a blight? 
Where silence never takes her solemn seat, 
Forbidding sundered souls with joy to meet ? 



28 WORLD WITHOUT END. 

World without end ! 
Look up, ye seekers for a world like this, 
For, just before you lies the realm of bliss. 
The little child you to your bosom pressed, 
Perchance is now in that fair world a guest ; 
The aged mother, bowed beneath the load 
Of grief and care along the weary road, 
Has seen the golden hinges swiftly turned. 
And, entering, all its hidden glory learned. 

World without end ! 
Each pilgrim, weary of a changing life, 
Who ceases battling with its constant strife ; — 
Who turns to Him by whom all things are made, 
Shall never be confounded nor afraid ! 
Let sun and dew quick withering flowers bewail. 
Let cities crumble, and let monarchs fail, 
Let mountains vanish, systems pass away — 
Let change and sorrow have a moment's sway. 
If, beyond these, an everlasting Friend 
Shall hold our bliss secure — world without end. 

J. P. B. 



' MANY THINGS ARE GROWING CLEAR." 

— Schiller. 

COME ! the summer night is calling, 
Through the elm-tree shadows falling, 
And the silver moonbeams gleaming, 

On the snowy window-screen. 
These but hints, I murmur lowly, 
And I raise the curtain slowly, 
Till a flood of splendor streaming 

Renders clear the enchanted scene. 

Soul ! all Nature calleth to thee, 

From the bounds of earth would woo thee; 

Morn, with fragrant breezes blowing 

Fresh from the celestial hills ; 
Eve in purple robes of glory 
Sweetly tells her mystic story. 
Such diviner state foreshowing 

That the soul with rapture thrills. 



30 ''MANY THINGS ARE GROWING CIEAR. 

Take, oh take these sweet suggestions, 
Ask no unbelieving questions ; 
Wafting thee to fields Elysian 

Death shall surely raise the screen ; 
With celestial Euphrasy 
He shall touch the inner eye, 
Till thou chant with raptured vision 

" Many things are clearly seen ! " 

Thus said Schiller, in his gladness, 
While each bowed the head in sadness 
Round his dying couch at even, 

Closed his eyes on scenes once dear ; 
On the flood of crimson glory 
Bathing rock and castle hoary ; 
Yet while earthly ties were riven 

Many things were growing clear. 

Sweeter than the carols ringing 
Whilst the lark her flight is winging, 
Are these words of Schiller, ever 

■ Singing, singing through the soul, 
Prelude of diviner pleasures 
Where no more in mournful measures 



''MAA^V THINGS ARE GROWING CLEAR:' \ 

Sing the souls who sorrow never, 

Who have safely reached the goal. 

What though chilling mists enshroud us, 
When these vapors that becloud us, 
Gazed upon from hights celestial 

Golden ''mirrors" shall appear; 
Courage ! then, nor wish to alter 
One of God's decrees, nor falter 
Through the fear of ills terrestrial ; 

Many things are growing clear ' 

A. L,. S. 



FLOWERS AND MOSSES FROM STONEHENGE. 

MOSSES from Stonehenge and bright golden 
flowers, 
Fair graceful ** lady's fingers," how in tones 
Of awe you whisper of those old old stones. 
Defying Time with all his boasted powers 

To tell what Century your birthday owns ! 
You drew your life from no fresh rosy bowers ! 
These grasses, silvery-green, breathed out 'neath 
showers 
That beat the Altar-Stone their unheard moans : — 
The Altar-Stone, sunlit but once a year. 

Yet shared with these its precious glint of gold. 
And hearts that live through shadows long and 

drear. 
Oft from their passing light-gleams some ray spare 
To those who chance their darkened way to share, 
For Love through light and shadow will enfold ! 

J. P. B. 

[The Altar Stone now lies in such a position that the sun strikes it 
but once a year.] 



MARCH. 

CAPRICIOUS March! oft passionate and wild ; 
Stormy as Hera when opposing Jove ; 
Who, in dark midnight, through thy realms shall 

rove, 
May hear strange voices that his spirit stir, 
As the last cry of shipwreck'd mariner! 
Art never into tenderness beguiled. 
Thou, whose fierce moods proclaim thee. Winter's 
child? 

Yes, Hera had her bright days, and could smile, 

And sip from nectar'd cup, with brow serene ; 

So when, some sunny morn, through woodland 

screen. 
On swelling buds looks the soft azure sky, 
A gracious Presence sweeps benignly by. 
And cheerful sounds ring out through forest aisle, 
While March to pleasing dreams the soul doth 

wile. 



34 MARCH, 

The early squirrels run a merry race ; 

The ready blue-bird hears her call and sings ; 

The starlings flock around with scarlet wings, 

While blue Hepaticas ope gentle eyes ; 

Arbutus flushes with a glad surprise 

When seeing through the leafy hiding-place 

Bright March bend o'er her with a smiling face. 

And shouldst thou wander where the silver shower 
Of moonlight falls upon some forest grand, 
Whose pillar'd arches by no human hand 
Were reared — strange harmonies shall be unwound, 
Till ** fretted niche," and column'd aisle resound, 
While March shall grandly raise in that lone hour, 
Te-Deum to our God of Love and Power ! 

A. L. s. 



SNOW-STORM IN APRIL. 



SOFT summer airs had whispered of new life 
To tiny spires, that dared to peep above 
The cold gray soil, at the first breath of love ; 
The lilac boughs with swelling buds were rife ; 
Robin and blue-bird in glad song held strife ; 
Bright daffodils in golden dresses, wove 
From stolen sunbeams, left their green-edged cove 
And gayly offered Spring their full fresh life ; 
When lo ! a voice that late had feigned " farewell," 
Comes stealing back upon the startled ear, 
Bidding presumptuous zephyrs keep their words 
Of early wooing from fair buds and birds. 
And no sweet vows of new-made love to breathe 
So near the icy chaplet he might wreathe. 



36 SNOW STORM IN APRIL. 

II. 

Softly his chilly breath falls on the air, 
And every waving limb and bending bough 
Trembles with flaky foliage, pearly fair — 
No rival for such bloom will he allow, 
No maid of spring such vesture can prepare. 
The robin looks ashamed that he should dare 
So soon to visit last year's lingering nest, 
Now rocking the light snow-drift on its breast ; 
The daffodil bends meekly 'neath the hood 
Of ermine lately tossed on her fair brow ; 
The lilac says her lover breaks his vow. 
And begs him haste to make his promise good. 
The laughing sunbeam hears her pleading call, 
And throws his genial smile again o'er all. 

J. P. B. 



I 



I WOULD DRAW NIGH. 

Draw nigh to God, ajid He will draw nigh to thee.'' 

WOULD draw nigh, but tell me where? 



In forests old and dim ? 
Or when on lonely mountain top 
The soul seems nearer Him ? 

I would draw nigh ! but whither go ? 

Where purple sunlight falls, 
And music sways the charmed air 

Within the temple walls? 

Oh soul ! no outward circumstance 
Of time, or state, or place, 

Debars the visits of thy God, 
If thou dost seek his face — 

If thou dost tread the holy ground 
With shoes from off thy feet ; 

And welcome the dear Comforter 
Who comes with solace sweet. 



38 / WOULD DRA W NIGH. 

It is not thus with absent friends — 

Our souls with anguish torn, 
May cry, '* Would God that they were here ! 

On some refulgent morn, 

When tJicy go forth with gladsome eyes. 

Unconscious of our woe. 
And learn, at last with sad surprise, 

When all too late to know ! 

And those who from our side have fled 

To breathe celestial air. 
How should they hear, midst harmonies, 

The voice of our despair? 

The stifling mountains shut it in, 

The waters drown our cry ; 
No answer from untroubled depths 

Of the far-distant sky ! 

Ah, thus it seems; yet who can say 

That friend to friend no more 
Returns — returns as embassy. 

Fresh from the " Shining shore ! " 



/ WOULD DRA W NIGH, 39 

But this we know, though friends should fail, 

God will draw nigh his own ; 
A loving word, or wish, may bring 

An answer from the throne. 

And when we tread the sunless vale, 

Which Christ before hath trod, 
His word of promise shall not fail 

While we go home to God. 

A. I,. .^. 



THE SEARCH. 

I GAZE at morn where rosylight 
The eastern portal faintly tinges, 
I scan at noon the far off height, 
At sunset where the golden light 
With arrowy rays the azure fringes. 

Oh could I pierce the clear deep blue ! 

I fix my hungry gaze upon it : 
Its open face, so pure, so true, 
I would look through, I would look through, 

And seize my treasure just beyond it ! 

Unpitying sky, be thou my chart. 

And yield the secret to my vision ! 
Within your hold is half my heart. 
Why keep me from myself apart? 
Why hold my yearning in derision? 

'' Is it for Me this watch you keep ? " 

Asked a low voice of tenderest sweetness ; 



THE SEARCH, 4 1 

" For Me you wake while others sleep ? 
To Me your yearning heart would leap ? 
Seek you in Me your soul's completeness ? 

" For you my soul was darkly tried — 
And once you melted at the story — 
For you my hands, my feet, my side, 
Now bear these scars. For you I died, 
That gloom and grief might end in glory. 

'' I am the Way — look up to Me, 

Nor longer blind thine eyes with weeping ; 
You soon without a veil shall see 
What watch, from human weakness free, 
Your Shepherd o'er His flock is keeping." 

Enough ! No more I search the blue. 

When death would hide the hearts that love 
me, 
To Him I look whose voice I knew, 
Whose pierced hand is still in view 
Holding a harp and crown above me. 

J. P. B. 



CLOUDS. 

THIS April day is overcast and dreary, 
And while in nature's temple lights grow 
pale, 
Like intonations of a miserere 

Comes ever and anon the wind's sad wail; 
The stormy petrel settles on the bay. 
And eerie wild-birds, on their northward way. 

Clear bugle notes are sending on the gale. 
Yet blind the eyes that cannot now discern 
" Resurgam ! " gleam amid the opening fern. 

Or read within this daphne's coronal 
How flowers waken at the Master's call, 
Though cold and darkness seek them to enthrall. 

And chilled the soul that has no song of praise 

For April days — these sad, symbolic days. 



II. 

SUNSHINE. 

RESURGENT nature springs to rapture new, 
No spot so dernful but the sun's bright 
beams 
Illume it ; over all the glory streams ; 
Lights up the purple grakle's dusky hue, 
And shows its tints of violet and blue , 
Guarding his sombre mate, the starling true; 
Unfurls his scarlet wings ; in hidden bower 
The wood-thrush warbles his entrancing lays ; 
Arrayed in softened white, aronia seems 
Etherial, like the blossoms seen in dreams ; 
On the hill-side glows the pink May-flower, 

Freed from the snow-drifts by the golden rays, 
As from white sea-foam comes a fairy dower 
Of rosy shells. Ah, bright, symbolic days ! 

A. L. S. 



NOTICED. 

JOB XXVIII : lo. 

THE rocky bed where winds the crystal stream ; 
The spotless lily, nodding o'er its brink, 
Laughing to see its trembling shadow shrink 
From proffered kisses, lest they prove a dream ; 
The mountain, glinting with the parting gleam 
Of sunset ; mountain clouds that loosely link 
Their gold and crimson, while the dew drops drink : 
The eye where love enkindles her bright beam ; 
The smile that plays upon the sufferer's cheek ; 
The tear that springs at Sympathy's low call ; 
The work of kindness for a healing given : 
The word of comfort strengthening the weak — 
All precious things, without, within, yea all 
Are seen by HiM — gifts known and owned of 
Heaven. 

J. P. B. 



MAY. 

INC OG NI T O . 

ONE day you'll find her where the waters glide 
By alder roots. The wood-bird sings at ease. 
Though skies are gray, and drip the woodland trees, 
His song is glad, whatever shall betide : 
Here, in ecstatic mood, sweet May doth hide. 
Often she wanders where anemones 
Unfold white petals in the fresh'ning breeze ; 
Or you may meet her in the forest wide. 
Where vines entangle, and where mosses creep ; 
Her garments sweet with wildwood spicery 
Are starred with golden violets. Still sleep, 
Through " numbing spells " in drear captivity, 
Fair flowers, that wait, in dingle and on steep, 
Till May release them with her golden key. 



MAY. 

CROWNED. 

LO ! trees and shrubs their gala dress display ; 
Rhodora hastes her purple robes to wear ; 
In vestments white the cherry and the pear, 
Cornels in light attire with rubies gay, 
And peach in rosy garb announce the May ! 
Can aught beneath the rosy skies compare 
For tenderness of tint, and sweetness rare, 
With apple-trees in festival array ? 
The softened flush of the unfolded flower. 
And pink buds nestling mid the greenery ! 
Now red-birds carol in the early hour; 
And azure-crested jays on cedar tree, 
And blue-birds warbling in the garden bower, 
Proclaim, in sprightly songs the jubilee ! 

A. L. S. 



TWO LESSONS. 

THE grape-vine's tendrils swayed and swung 
and caught 
Fast by the fir's long fingers, stiff and green, 
Sending its shoots above, around, between. 
Till the whole tree, whose strength alone it sought, 
Graceful, beneath the drooping vine was seen. 
Lost in its mantling robes, a very Queen. 

So, thought I, Love, o'er many a sturdy heart 
Stiffened and rough through press of carking care, 
Comes with her gentle step and graceful air. 
And of Jicr beauty makes it bear a part ; 
The roughness vanishes — the beauty grows — 
Till what was sterile blossoms as a rose. 

One lesson — as I looked another came ; 
Within some tender clasps of coiling green. 
Brown stems, detached, of last years' growth were 
seen, 



48 TfFO LESSONS. 

Brittle and lifeless ; even '' without a name 

To live ;" yet circled and upborne the same 

As though the coil's quick life their own had been. 

** Ah me ! " I cried, '' May not some dead souls live, 
Upborne, for long, in throbbing arms of love. 
That pleading, stretch, and bear them far above 
Toward One who Life for Death, alone can give ? " 
*' Let the dead branches Join the Living Vine^' 
Came answer, "" And in that day botJi are Mine." 

J. P. B. 



JUNE. 

WELCOME, sweet Princess of the azure eyes! 
Sure not to Grecian faith appeared so fair 
Blue eye'd Athena, when with zealous care 
They kept her festival 'neath summer skies — 
The sacred robe, with rich embroideries 
By her own fingers wrought, would not compare 
In beauty with the garments June doth wear. 
Whose living green the emerald's light outvies. 
Roses inwreathe them, sprays of eglantine. 
The pink azalias, and white lily bells : 
Through her soft accents floats the wood-bird's tune. 
Inviting us to hidden haunts, where vine 
And sweet-ferns cluster in the mossy dells — 
Thus hearing thee, we hasten, joyous June ! 

A. L. S. 



TRANSPLANTED. 

AHEAP of fresh brown earth lies newly piled 
On the soft shaven sward of beauty rare, 
Spread out before the window where I gaze. 

Scarce have I time to wonder, or to think 
Of new-made grave in such a spot as this, 
When, trundled by two stalwart gardeners, 
A trembling fir is wheeled along the walk 
Among the windings of the shaded grounds, 
A pyramid of green, and safely set 
Within its new-found home ; I see the gleam 
Of busy spades, as quick they throw the earth 
Gently about its roots ; one, stopping now 
To poise the tree, and give it posture true. 
Then stay it, patting firmly the fresh mould. 
How meekly went the fir to its new place ! 
Was there a parting pang, a farewell thought 
(^f the bright gleaming river, from whose bank, 
(Beneath whose sheltering rock, and in the shade 



TRANSPLANTED. 5 1 

Of broad-armed chestnuts and great tulip-trees, 

Festooned with clinging vines of bitter-sweet, 

With scarlet arils bursting into gold,) 

It drew its first fresh life ? It trembles now 

As though 'twere full of feeling; near it stands 

A score of welcoming friends : a willow first, 

A full green fountain rippling in the breeze, 

Nods it a mournful welcome ; pines stand near, 

And white-limbed sycamores extend their arms 

In rustling welcome to the stranger fir. 

Brave tree ! a heart in sympathy shall watch — 

And if thy roots refuse not from strange soil 

To draw new strength, and thy bright boughs drink in 

From the same sunshine thou hast ever loved. 

Draughts of new life — heeding the lesson taught, 

From thee shall take example, and fit in 

With new surroundings to a new-found home. 

J. P. B. 



IT IS JUNE. 

IT IS June ! it is June ! beautiful June ! 
Come, list to the oriole's gleeful tune ; 
He has haunted all day the walnut tree, 
And merrily, merrily whistles he : 
Sweet are the flower-scents wandering by. 
Melody breathes in the summer wind's sigh, 
Smiles the bright sky, and the sparkling ocean 
Quiets the soul with its ^' measured motion ; " 
If only our spirits were always in tune 
To praise God like thee, June, musical June! 

Golden buttercups spangle the green meadow grass, 
And fields of the sweet-scented clover we pass. 
Precious perfumes fresh leaves of the roses exhale. 
The fair convallarias are brightening the vale. 
From depths of the dim wood the white cornus 

glancing. 
To touch of the south-wind the willow sprays danc- 
ing. 



IT IS JUNE. 53 

Oaks, maples and alders, the blue sky aboon, 
All say to us, June is here ! jubilant June ! 

Bright hum-birds are darting from flower to flower, 
And flashing like gems through the garden's green 

bower, 
While the breeze that is stirring the foliage there 
Whispers soft as the voice of a child in its prayer; 
Near a lichen-lined niche in the old apple tree, 
Gentle bluebird is warbling right cheerily ; 
In its sheltered home by some murmuring rill, 
The wood-thrush will sing us a song that shall thrill 
Through the list'ning soul, as each magical note 
On eventide zephyrs shall tremblingly float ; 
And then, in the night time, when all, all are still. 
Save grasshopper chirping, or late whippoorwill. 
Then for a walk 'neath the radiant moon, — 
And we'll thank God for June, the beautiful June! 

A. L. S. 



THREE FEET AROUND. 

ON HOOSAC MOUNTAIN. 

I'VE laid my bunch of gathered rushes down 
(Rough-jointed rushes, sea-green, ringed with 
black) 
Upon the moss-patched rock beside me, where 
Above the gurgling brook, beneath the elms 
And gnarled oaks upon the mountain side. 
With book in hand I thought to read awhile, 
Waiting my friend the angler's own good time. 
Books ! Ah, they needs must have a wondrous charm, 
If aught in cloth or leather tempt me now ! 
The music of the brooklet charms my ear ; — 
The towering mountain, piercing the deep blue 
With one bold point, holds eye and mind attent ; 
And at my feet the shelving rocks speak out 
With myriad tongues of brown and green and gold, 
Within the radius of three feet round. 
The star-moss climbs their sides with velvet foot, 



THREE FEE T ARO UND. 5 5 

And tiny mushrooms bend from yellow stems 
Like side-lamps, capped with round extinguishers 
Of buff and brown and orange. Lichens, too, 
Grey-green, with tiny chalices ; some, round. 
Some, like a calla, opening at the side, 
Each sparkling with its drop of silver dew. 
The pale lobelia, and the golden rod. 
Kiss the sweet-fern, and bend in fond embrace. 
To welcome the frail sorrel at their root ; — 
The round three-parted sorrel, each green leaf 
Three heart-shaped petals, meeting point to point, 
Half hide the yellow blossoms from my sight. 

I've plucked a root, and put it in my book — 
That's what the book was good for after all ! 
Helping me hold a little of this wealth 
Of beauty, when four walls shall shut me in. 
Pressed leaves ? Ah, yes, this partridge-berry leaf. 
May leave its vine and mountain-shaded home, 
And go to form a wreath upon my wall. 
And here's a clover. Is it out of place, 
Its Gothic trefoil and its crimson top 
Among the wilder tangle of the woods? 
Ask of the golden dandelion near, 



5 D THREE EEE T ARO UND. 

Who utters quick reply, — '' We have our rights 
In garden, field, highway or mountain-side." 
And I must pluck these strange leaves, melon-shaped, 
Thick-covered with white hair ; the Esati plant ; 
It may be slander, but I'll call it so. 

If I could press these crimson mushrooms, too ! 
My pencil cannot paint them ; one, two, three ; 
Perfect, and rich, as if from garnet cut. 
And held in sunlight. Smooth as pearl a-top, 
And underneath carved in rich, even grooves, — 
One line, from edge to stem. 

And here's a branch 
Of beech or maple, dead and fallen down. 
But lichen-decked, as if a perfect shower 
Of butterflies had chosen it to rest 
Upon, when weary in their noon-day flight. 

Of this labiate flower 
So delicate a purple, I have made 
A crescent toward a wreath. It would have been 
A circle, (to remind me of the time 
When larkspur wreaths were ''world and all" to me.) 
But that the flowers gave out, — these tiny flowers. 



THREE FEET AROUND, 5/ 

** Ho ! Ho ! " It is the angler's call ; and though 
I share his trout, served crisp on tempting plate, 
I yet shall say, " I have enjoyed more " 
(Whispering this to myself and not to him,) 
'* Upon the mountain-side in three feet 'round.'* 

J. P. B. 



WATER LILIES. 

THE pearly clouds are sailing silently 
O'er azure sky, and on the lakelet blue 
White water lilies float : — No arts, to woo 
Those to their crystal homes who will not flee, 
Have these our lovely Naiads of the sea. 
But with a subtle fragrance will indue 
The loyal souls that heed their teachings true, 
And keep through tempests sweet tranquility. 
Rising from dungeons dark to morning's glow, 
With your white robes and coronals of gold, 
Ye seem, dear Lilies, faintly to foreshow 
That golden glory which the saint descries, 
Streaming through depths of troubles manifold, 
The compensation bright of Paradise I 

A. L. S. 



TO THE MUMMY, IN WHOSE HAND LORD LINDSAY FOUND 
A BULB WHICH PRODUCED A BEAUTIFUL DAHLIA. 

A SCORE of centuries thy shrivelled hand 
With miser grasp this little bulb did hold, 
Withered and dead, — till, placed beneath the 
mould, 
Its hidden germ with beauty did expand, 
A living smile upon the desert sand. 

Was it thy wish, within thy grasp to enfold 
This symbol of a bliss to thee untold. 
Of life immortal in a better land? 

Did'st thou believe, that as this bulb concealed 
A hidden life for ages in its breast, 

So hidden life in thee should be revealed 
To waken in celestial beauty drest ? 

Then, as the symbol, may thy hope be found, 
When for thy waking the last trump shall sound. 

J. P. B. 



WOOD MOSSES 

SOON the leaves shall be withered, the skies 
shall be gray. 

The trees toss their arms through the long wintry 
day, 

Then we'll search for the nooks where the wood- 
mosses throw 

O'er the flowerless earth an emerald glow . 

They fear not, they heed not the tempest's wild 
power, 

But flourish the most in the darksomest hour. 

From the brightness hid of the summer heaven 

Their beautiful work have the mosses given 

To embroider lone spots where the shadows brood, 

Nor voices awaken the solitude. 

Save where echo calls from her mossy throne* 

With a soft reply to the wood-dove's moan, 

Or makes response 'neath the darkening sky 



WOOD MOSSES. 6 1 

To the thrush's song of ecstasy. 

Here the gold and the crimson mushrooms glow, 

Besprinkled with spots like the flaky snow: 

Here the wild birds alight of azure hue, 

And carry the mosses away from view, 

Where pearly eggs 'mid their emerald sheen 

Shall lie deftly concealed by some leafy screen. 

O, the chaliced moss when the storm clouds lower 
Offers rubied cups to the welcome shower. 
Catching drop by drop, till each liquid gem 
Shines with changing light like a diadem • 
O, the generous moss swells the crystal river, 
Where the willows droop and the aspens quiver ; 
And its velvet folds wrap the acaulon, 
Which shall glow like flame in the years to come. 

A. L. R. 
* " Echo gives answer from her mossy couch." — Milton, 



A BOUQUET. 

WHAT unsealed fountain covers me with 
showers, 
Dropping sweet-scented odors all around? 
What secret spring hath love's skilled finger found, 
To ope a '' fount of gardens," throwing flowers 
Free as the summer rain on vine-clad bowers ? 

When pain's strong grasp has gently been un- 
bound. 
When light the darkened room again has crowned, 
Roses and fuchsias, ye are for such hours! 

Precious the breath your perfumed censers hold, 
Sweeter your message than all spices smell. 

Love ! name it not with silver or with gold ! 
Love ! think its value ne'er with gems to tell ! 
Richer than fragrance from the tender vine, 
The whisper that a true heart beats with mine. 

J. P. B. 



A LENTEN BUTTERFLY. 

TO me, ice bound, this Lenten time, 
There came as from a sunny clime, 
With gold-strewed wing of pearly white. 
Resplendent in the noonday light. 
As if with sunbeams it would vie, 
A fair ethereal Butterfly ! 

For me, what message, fairy one, 
Whilst you are shining in the sun? 
Dost say, '' Til soar, for I have wings, 
But you, surpassed by meaner things, 
Can only look at me and sigh, 
' Alas ! Alas ! I cannot fly ! '" 

Or, sayest thou, ''In Lenten time, 

Come, listen to an Easter chime! 

I slept through Winter nights and days, 

Unvisited by sunny rays ; 

Yet Resurrection came to me ! 

And thou hast Immortality!" 



64 A LENTEN BUTTERFLY. 

Oh Psyche ! token that the Spring 

Hastens the Easter morn to bring ! 

Were but thy pinions strong, as fair, 

To teach you realms of azure air, 

I'd give thee freedom, for thy cheer, 

Nor let thee flutter feebly here ! 
* ^ -x- * -je * 

I raised the sash, a rush, it flew 
With upward flight till lost to view — 
Whilst in my soul an Easter ray 
Sweet sunshine makes, this Lenten day ! 

A. L. S. 



HERE— AND THERE. 

I'VE watched fair morning-glory buds open in 
snowy bloom ; 
I've lingered where pure lily bells shook out a sweet 

perfume ; 
I've bent in loving wonder where tuberose buds 

unfurl, 
Swinging their costly odor from thuribles of pearl. 

Tuberose and morning-glory, lilies sun-tipped with 
gold, 

Think not ye are the rarest flowers, that I have 
watched unfold ; 

Ye mind me of still fairer buds opening to richer 
bloom, 

Throwing from out their choicer cups a costlier per- 
fume. 

I've seen the morning-glory fade, the tuberose bow 
its head. 



66 HERE— AND THERE. 

The lily petals curl and droop, their grace and beauty 

fled; 
I've seen the fairest blossoms fall and gently sink 

from sight, 
And, blinded by my bitter tears, I called it cruel 

blight. 

Yet now with open eyes I gaze beyond the fading 
bloom. 

Beyond the chilling winds of earth, beyond the ar- 
resting tomb : 

Beyond — Oh ! Heavenly gardens fair, I speak no 
more of blight ! 

Transplanted safe, I see them all arrayed in spotless 
white. 

The gracious Lord of that bright land holds for His 
own in store 

Newness of life, fullness of joy, pleasures for ever- 
more. J. P. B. 



"AND THEY ALSO WHICH PIERCED HIM." 

REV. I. : 7. 

WRAPPED in fine linen, odorous with spices, 
Take the loved form, so marred and pierced 
and bruised ; 
In the new sepulchre within the garden 
It will rest sweetly. 

Break not the silence by your fruitless weeping — 
Wrong is triumphant, death has played the victor; 
Roll up the stone and seal the tomb securely 
For the pale sleeper ! 

Ask of the angel who from Heaven descended 
Rolling the stone back for the risen Saviour, — 
Snow-white His raiment, and His face as light- 
ning,— 

Was wrong triumphant ? 

Ask of the chosen who so soon beheld Him 

As in a cloud from out their gaze He vanished : — 



68 ''AND THEY ALSO WHICH PIERCED HIMr 

Ask of the two in white, who spoke beside them 
Words of great promise , 

" Why stand ye gazing up into the Heaven? 
For this same Jesus who is parted from you 
Shall in like manner come again descending 
In clouds of glory." 

Then shall God call to continent and island, 
And from lone cavern, tomb, and ocean recess. 
Summon each sleeper quickly to His presence; 
All eyes shall see Him. 

Ah ! and they also — what a world of meaning ! 
Trembling among them, shall be gathered also, 
Calling for pity on the rocks and mountains, 

'^ They who once pierced Him ! " 

J. P. B. 



DAYBREAK. 

AS, in dim woodlands, ere one rosy ray 
Calls forth the birdling from its mossy nest, 
Some fine, foregoing influence of the day 
Allures sweet music from the songster's breast. 
And in the dusk it murmurs dreamily ; 
Thus, oft, ere morning cometh, murmur we 
Snatches of song we warble in unrest. 
Snatches of olden hymns, whose music quaint 
Some martyr fired, or cheered some dying saint — 
Lyrics which haunt the universal heart, 
Whatever creeds of intellect divide. 
Whatever joys elate or ills betide ; 
So through our lives let the dear music glide, 
Till discords die, till shadows shall depart ! 

A. L. s. 



PETRARCH AND LAURA. 



FAIR *' shut-up valley," beautiful Vaucluse, 
Here, in thy rock-girt crescent ever finding 
A freshened greenness where the silvery winding 
Of Sorgue's clear waters their bright folds unloose, 
Say, can the bard and wily god hold truce ? 
Or to thy secret caves shall Cupid follow, 
Haunting the '* garden sacred to Apollo," 
In thy lone depths his keenest shafts to use? 
Or say if prize of golden violet won, 
And laurel wreath that crowns him prince of song^ 
Can hold the blinded bard with spell as strong 
As one fair violet-spangled robe has done ? 
Or tell if dew-gemmed pansies ever glowed 
Radiant as those which Laura's mantle strewed ? 

II. 

Fair " shut-up valley," sweet Vaucluse, ah no ! 
Thy sunless caverns and thy deepest dingle, 
Where the wild olive and the laurel mingle, 




I ^^' .A 



PE TRA RCH A ND LA URA . / I 

Their darkest shadows o'er thy haunts to throw, 

Can ne'er shut out that vision's dazzling glow ! 

Gold locks, brown eyes, and snowy neck commingle, 

And bid his very heart's blood burn and tingle, 

In every vein, a rapture and a woe — 

That passing vision most unearthly fair, 

Burned in upon his soul that holy morning. 

With light too strong for any after warning 

To dim the matin vision of St. Clair. 

No fame of coming years can break the spell, 

'Till o'er his cold heart tolls the funeral knell. 

J. P. B. 



T 



"LIGHT! LIEBE ! LEIBEN ! " 

LIGHT! LOVE! LIFE! 
The inscription upon Hej-ders tombstone. 

HE sunlight's glimmer through the storrn- 
clouds parted, 
The moonlight glancing on a restless sea, 
Pale star-beams which the eyes of night have darted. 
Such, Herder, such the Light of Earth to thee ! 

A rose-tint caught from the rejoicing morn, 

One sweet, lone voice from all earth's minstrelsy, 

Of smiles and tears a transient rainbow born, 
Such, Herder, such the Love of Earth to thee ! 

A search, a yearning for the fair, the true ; 

Illusive joys which the worn traveler flee; 
The poet's rapture, and his anguish too ; 

Such, Herder, such the Life of Earth to thee! 

Be happy thou, if it was thine to gain 

An entrance to the dwelling-place of light, 



LIGHT! LIEBE! LIEBEN . 73 

Whose holy clearness without earthly stain, 
Inwraps a world all beautiful and bright. 

And what is Love, 'neath those serener skies. 

Where never friend proves worthless or unkind ! 

Ah ! what is Love where beauty never dies ! 

Where heart to heart responds, and mind to mind ! 

Below, a plant by chilling winds uptorn, 
It blooms with rich, immortal hues above. 

And 'mid the radiance of celestial morn. 

Glows with his brightness, whose dear name is 
Love. 

And what is Life — eternal life in Heaven! 

To love, to serve with strong undying powers, 
And find all blessings with our Saviour given, 

Our Light, our Love, our \J\{^, forever ours. 

A. L. S. 



"I WILL RANSOM THEM." 

HOSEA VIII. : 14. 

WHEN the pale messenger, with silent footfall 
Enters the chamber where sad Avatchers 
wait, 
Stops with a breath the crimson current's flowing. 
Leaves the still form like marble, and in going 
Opes for the soul a strange mysterious gate ; 

When the fringed lids fall in a darkening shadow, 

Over dim eyes, sealed in a dreamless sleep ; 
When waxen palms some tender hand is folding 
Above fair flowers we fain would think them holding, 
When reft ones, stricken dumb, nor wail, nor 
weep ; 

Say, shall the mourner sit in hopeless sorrow. 

Looking on death as an unending sleep? 
Saying, For me there is no bright to-morrow, 
No torch to light this gloom, that I may borrow ; 
No voice to comfort in a gloom so deep ? 



/ WILL RANSOM THEM. 75 

Ah! listen ! sounding clear amid the tumult, 
The pains, the anguish-throbs we cannot brave, 

There comes a Voice, all power and yet all sweet- 
ness, 

A voice of promise perfect in completeness, 

"/ will redeem from death and from the grave!" 

The voice of Him who in this world of sorrow 

Trod the red wine-press of God's wrath alone ; 
Dying himself, that we might rise victorious, 
As He from death arose with triumph glorious, 
To share with Him the honors of His throne. 

J. P. B. 



"THE LAST TOKEN."* 

I. 

SHE is so young, so young! her mien and form 
Seem suited to some sweet sequestered place, 
She is so slight — would tremble in a storm 
Like the fair lily whose soft swaying grace 
Is all her own. But her uplifted face 
Tells of a purpose none may lightly move, 

And speaks of something storms cannot efface ; 
I think it wears the seal of holy love 
And faith, up-staying her all earthly ills above. 

IL 

No mailed hero, but a timid maiden ; 

One little hand leans on the cold hard wall. 
While at her feet a rose, with longings laden, 

" Last token " that a lover's hand let fall ; 

And though her figure grows erect and tall. 
Just touch'd with sadness seems that earnest glance. 

As through the cruel crowd that o'ersees all 



THE LAST TOKEN. 7/ 

She looks her last on one dear countenance ; 
While fixed Jiis eye, unmoved, as in a fearful 
trance. 

III. 
Dainty pink rose, upon the stone floor lying, 

Why, such do lovers cull in some sweet glen 
Or garden walk, when summer gales are sighing ; 

But here the close walls show a dolesome den. 

O, sight to pale the cheek of sturdy men ! 
On either hand the stealthy leopards hide, 

Sure of their prey ; and what the feast has been 
The red stains prove. But Christ is at her side. 
And they are safe indeed who with their Lord 
abide. 

IV. 

And I am glad the artist gave her so. 

Without a trace of triumph on her brow : 
Palms for the future ; joy enough, I trow. 
Though surely to her death she goeth now, 
Timid yet firm ; for I remember how 

God chooseth weak things to confound the strong : 
" We can do all things," trusting saints avow, 



78 THE LAST TOKEN. 

** Through Christ that strengthens." Thus the 

victor's song 
Shall glorify His name, and His dear praise prolong. 

A. L. S. 

*A picture by Max at the Loan Exhibition, Academy of Design, 
N. Y., 1876, represents the exquisitely beautiful face of a young 
Christian martyr, in the arena, about to be sacrificed by leopards, one 
of which approaches her from the open, blood-stained window lead- 
ing to his den. Her lover from above, not seen by the spectator, has 
just thrown down a rose, which lies at her feet. Her uplifted face 
tells that her farewell look is for him. 



'' NO IDOL IN THE HAND— NO IDOL IN THE 
HEART." 

BRIGHTLY the sun's last glowing beams 
Crimsoned his native sea, 
As slowly on the Indian shore 

A Parsee bent the knee. 
Devotion in his upturned face 

Seemed strangely blent with fear ; 
He knelt, 'till 'neath the fading wave 
His God should disappear. 

Then tremulous he rose and walked 

That pilgrim-trodden strand. 
And, bowing, with his finger traced 

His thought upon the sand : 
*' God " — 'twas the burden of his thought— 
" My God, and must we part ? 
Shall thy bright beams no more receive 

The homage of my heart ? 

'' Has all my worship been in vain ? 
My soul believes it true — 



8o NO IDOL IN THE HAND 

Blest teachers of the Hving God 
I henceforth go with you. 

Thou Sun — so long the God before 
Whose glory I have bowed, 

Farewell ! when thou again shalt rise 
No doubts my soul shall cloud. 

'' The God who made thee calls me now ! 

With thee as God I part ; 

No idol henceforth in my hand — 

No idol in my heart ! " 

•5^ * * * -x- * 

Along the shore of memory's sea, 

Where high the dark waves rolled, 
A stricken mother bowed in grief 

That would not be controlled. 
'' He was my own, my only one. 

My life with his was blent ; 
I could not for a moment think 

He was a treasure lent, 

'* When from his cheek the crimson hue 
Grew pale as fades the leaf ; 



NO IDOL IN THE HEART. 8 1 

When from his eye the light withdrew, 

My soul owned no relief. 
' My God,' I cried, ' and wilt thou not 

My life's best treasure spare ? ' 
There was no answering voice of love, 

And all was deep despair. 

' My God,' again I cried, ' and can 

A worshipper like me. 
Who can permit an angel child 

To blot out joy in Thee ; 
Can sucJi a worshipper still claim 

In thy pure bliss a part? 
Henceforth no idol in my hand. 

No idol in my heart ! ' " 

God is enoiigJi the mourner sings, 

When trust succeeds to doubt ; 
God is enough, the Parsee finds 

Though suns be blotted out. 
Oh, solemn as the prayer may be, 

'Tis of my life a part ; 
No idol in my hand henceforth. 

No idol in my heart. J. P. B. 



"NON OMNIS MORIAR!" 

THE winds, to-night, the forest pines, are singing 
The same wild song with which the woods 
were ringing 
Through the long nights of centuries gone by, 
And merged in depths of dread eternity ; 
Still moans the sea and sings the river still. 
Wandering and warbling at its *' own wild will ; " 
And now, as then, with aspirations high, 
Man singeth to himself, " I shall not die ! 
Though I go hence, I shall not wholly die ! " 

Through sounding galleries of Time's ancient fane, 
Floats onward, onward, some symphonious strain. 
From out the Past, heroic souls are calling 
Through their sweet accents, on the charmed ear 

falling. 
Long since they lived, and wrought their life-work 

well; 



A^OJV OMNIS MORIAR! 83 

Long since they heard the voice of Azrael, 

Like curfew-bell in the dim eventide 

Calling to slumber, for the day hath died, 

To quench the cheerful blaze, put out the light, 

Say to the household group, " Good-night I good 

night ! " 
And still each whispered with the latest sigh, 
" I shall not die ! I shall not wholly die ! " 

Thus sings the Poet, when his words have power 
To gild the storm-cloud of some threatening hour, 
To help the mourner in his misery, 
** I shall not die ! I shall not wholly die ! '* 
Thus says the Artist, when each radiant hue 
With love of beauty doth some soul imbue, 
When the fair scenes that haunt his inner vision. 
Steeped in the warmth and tints of life elysian. 
Wake up some soul to thought and purpose high, 
'' I shall not die ! I shall not wholly die ! " 

Thus saith the Christian, in his mortal anguish, 
" I shall revive, though early life will languish. 
Where is thy sting, O Death ? Thy victory, Grave? 



84 NON OMNIS MORI A R ! 

Jesus, the Victor, shall be strong to save." 

Then fold the hands, and calmly close the eye, 
He shall not die ! He shall not wholly die ! 

A. L. S, 



BEGINNING TO SINK. 

A SHIP was tossing in the wind 
Upon the billowy sea, 
And fearful mariners looked out 

On storm-rocked Galilee. 
When lo upon the heaving floor, 

Across the swelling wave 
A form approached with fearless step; 
A friend drew near to save. 

" It is a spirit ! " quick they cried — 

Each heart with fear dismayed ; 
" Be of good cheer ! " a voice replied, 

'* 'Tis I, be not afraid." 
The sanguine Peter heard, and called, 

" Lord, bid me come to thee ! " 
" Come ! " and he sprang from out the ship 

Upon the rocking sea. 

The silvery floor beneath his feet 
Seemed opening for his grave, 



86 BEGINNING TO SINK. 

Faithless, and sinking, loud he cried 

Unto his Lord, to save. 
How good the grasp of that firm hand, 

With trouble girt about ! 
And still we ask, as Christ then asked, 

*' Oh ! wherefore didst thou doubt?" 

J. P. B. 



THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

WHILE Nymphcea's locked In charmed sleep, 
The azure lakelet under, 
Nor shall awake till welcome Spring 

Each mystic bond will sunder 
Lobelia vies with Golden-rod, 

And shines in scarlet splendor ; 
And tarries still the Gentian meek 

With hue so sweetly tender. 
O Gentian, why thy fring'd lids clos'd ? 

And why thy garb thus sober. 
When others wear the livery gay, 

Of red and gold October ? 
Dost think that o'er thy satin folds 

Some late and careless rover, 
Some homeless bee, in rueful plight, 

Some wandering fly shall hover ? 
Hath August's purple hydromel 

Which tints thy veins so finely. 



88 THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

Entranced thee with its magic spell, 

That thou dost dream supinely? 
Or, art thou musing of the sky, 

Its rich blue tints reflecting, 
With hues that deck the mountain high, 

All gayer charms rejecting? 
Come storm, come calm, dear Gentian, thou 

Need take no thought of morrow. 
The frost may bite some chilly night, 

But thou no care wilt borrow : 
Oh, Gentian blue, impearl'd with dew, 

And bath'd in moonlight mellow, 
When thou shalt rest on Earth's calm breast, 

' Mid crimson leaves and yellow, 
I'll say, with grace she fill'd her place, 

And when her father bid her, 
Without vain care she perish'd there, 

And thus will I " consider.'* 

A. L. s. 



I 



THE MIMOSA. 
'VE watched the frail Mimosa's bud 



Burst gently through the yielding clay, 
Its feathery leaves of palest green 
Unfolding to the opening day. 

The seed that slept beneath the mould, 
Heard the low Zephyr's plaintive voice, 

Felt through the earth the sunbeam's kiss, 
And bade them in its birth rejoice. 

I've seen its leaflets, (just before 
In graceful beauty wide outspread,) 

Quivering and curling 'neath a touch, 
Sink slowly to their Earthy bed. 

And so when Sorrow's darkest shade 
Shrouded a heart in sudden night, 

I've seen the germ of faith expand. 

Break through the gloom and gain the light. 



90 THE MIMOSA. 

Alas, when all again was fair, 

I've seen a word that spirit wound, 

When lo ! each shrinking tendril fell 
Silent and withering to the ground. 

J. P. B. 



"AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT." 

"It has sometimes been, as in that beautiful story, that the last 
steps, before the dark river was reached, lay through the land Beulah, 

* * * * and yet the feet may be dipped in the chill river, be- 
fore the heavenly light has shone upon the face." — Graver Thoughts 
of a Country Parson. 



I. 

IT shall be light ! Though here the '' silver 
lining," 
The solemn splendor of our midnight skies, 
The crimson glory when the sun's declining; 

Yet oft the spirit turns its eager eyes 
To the calm brightness of celestial day, 
Ah ! when, she asks, will shadows flee away, 
And all be light ? 

II. 

Though, like the wood thrush, when the days are 
dreary. 
She sings her sweetest in her deepest gloom, 



92 AT E VENING TIME IT SHAIL BE LIGHT, 

Or softly breathes the plaintive miserere 

As the crushed anthemis exales perfume, 
She yearns to be where perfect spirits dwell, 
And where the notes of Hallelujah swell, — 
Where all is light ! 

III. 

It shall be light ! Oh, Christian it may be 

That, ere thy feet shall touch the bridgeless 
stream, 

All night and day the sun shall shine for thee 
Where the clear rivulets of Beulah gleam ; 

Yet, should thy sun in gloom descend the skies, 

Fear not ! For thee eternal morn shall rise — 



It shall be light ! 



A. L. S. 



COMMUNION OF THE THREE PASTORS OF 
ZURICH, APRIL 1525. 

NO sacred altar there, no mystic rite, 
No holy wafer, which the form should 
shroud 
Of Him they worshiped ; not within a cloud 
Of perfumed incense ; but with faith's pure light 
Beaming above the gloom of Papal night, 
That noble band their new allegiance vowed, 
As round the table of their Lord they bowed, 
^Y faith communing — asking not for sight. 
No cup of burnished gold received the wine, 

Or silver platter held the symbol bread ; 
They meekly took the elements divine, 

Their board with wooden plate and goblet spread, 
And there, in living union with their Vine. 
Sweet peace and holy joy on all were shed. 

J. P. B. 



THE SOMBER SAIL. 

WHAT glitter of noon-tide, what glories of 
night, 
Surpass this encrimsoned, enrapturing light, 

Rolling in on the rippled bay ? 

Oh, these magical hues have a subtle power, 

In the silence and shade of this sunset hour, 

Unknown to the dazzling day ! 

Into the bay with its white sails spread, 
Glorified in this evening red, 

Wafted by zeyhyrs free. 
The fair ship glides on her shining track. 
And tossing the spray in diamonds back, 

She hastes to the wider sea. 

White as the down on the eider's breast, 
Bright as the foam on the billow's crest. 
When we saw her from afar ; 



THE SOMBER SAIL. 95 

And now, at last, in that line of light 
Where the golden sky and sea unite, 
She fades as the evening star. 

What follows her track, like an ominous dream. 
Or that dolorous boat on the gloomy stream 

Once bound for the *' sunless shore " ? 
All darkly this came on our wondering view, 
And somber its sails in the roseate hue 

As those sable ones of yore. 

You were saying, friend, with your usual grace, 
'^ Not changing its texture, hit changing its place 

Shall whiten this canvas dark ;" 
See ! into the brigJitness she carries the stain. 
And the last rays of sunset are striving in vain 

To illumine the Shadowy Bark ! 

A. L. s. 



THE HIDING PLACE. 

" And a Man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a 
covert from the tempest." — Isaiah xxxii : 2. 

"The keenest winds that blow over all lonely places, whether 
lonely hights or lonely flats." — Robertson. 



N 



O shelter from the wind, 

Sweeping the level blackness of the 



The chilling wind, that pierces through the soul, 

Whilst the unpitying rain 
Drenches the long reach of the mossy waste ! 

No shelter from the wind, 

Rushing from Scythian wilds, 

Over the dolesome steppe ! 
And through the prairies lone and treeless stretch, 
When bends the sear grass 'neath the cutting blast, 

No shelter from the wind ! 

No covert from the storm 
Meeting the traveler lost on mountain hights ! 
When forceful lightning reddens the grim crags, 



THE HIDING PIACE. 97 

And shows destruction near ! 
Wrapped in the black folds of some thund'rous cloud, 

He finds 'mid raging wind, 

He finds 'neath pelting hail, 

No refuge from the storm ! 
God pity wanderers lost on nights like these ! 
And give all lambs missing from shepherd's fold 

A covert from the storm ! 

But O, than heath more black, 
Than fen more false, than deserts drear more wild, 
Are the bleak places, where the tempted sees 

"^ No shelter from the storm ! 

Where doleful creatures roam and specters fright ; 

And there are gloomy hights, 

Where keener lightnings flash. 

Where louder thunders roll ! 
Alas ! on wind-swept flats and steeps like these, 
What power shall give the haunted human soul 

A covert from the storm ? 

O, hearken, tempted one. 
Ages ago 'twas told a Man shall be 
As hiding place from wind — covert from storm ; 



gS THE HIDIXG PLACE. 

And in due time One came ! 
Stronger than storm, He ruled the raging wind, 

He trod the desert lone, 

He faced the tempter's power, 

Was tried and overcame ! 
A prayer — the glance of faith — and He is near ! 
Immanuel His name — our shelter from the blast. 

Our refuge from the storm ! 

A. L. s. 



GARNERED. 

BLEAK wintry winds had bared the shivering 
trees, 
And whirled their brown dead leaves to snow-filled 

graves ; 
' All summer's treasures locked in secret caves,' 
I mourning said, ' and nothing left to please 
But winter's ruthless grasp must sternly seize — ' 
When lo ! beneath a sheltered bank there waves, 
Sweetly unconscious of the storm it braves, 
One crimson-lidded daisy. A heart's ease. 
Green-leaved at root, and with a double bloom 
Of purple flowerets, to the daisy smiled. 
Fair flowers, ye shall no longer brave the wild. 
But sheltered safe with me breathe sweet per- 
fume: 
So oft doth God to his dear children say, 
' Long have you smiled through storms, come 
bloom with me alway." 

J. P. B. 



THE PEACE OF THE MOUNTAINS. 

" The mountains shall bring peace to the people." — Psalms Ixxii : 2 

TO him who, dwelHng by the restless deep, 
Has shared its wild commotion day by day, 
And felt its moaning voice, though midnight sleep 
O'er his wrapt soul had sway ; 

When he shall seek the purple heights again. 
And find from vexing thoughts a sweet surcease. 
How softly on his spirits falls that strain, — 

*' The mountains shall bring peace ! " 

"The covenant of God's peace doth still remain," 
He saith, recalling some dear word of hope, 
When golden sunbeams after chilling rain 
Brighten the mountain slope. 

Clearly against the azure sky they trace 
The finest spray ; they pierce the darksome grot ; 
Whilst airy footsteps of the rainbow grace 
Some unfrequented spot. 



THE PEACE OF THE MOUNTAINS. 1 01 

How can he cherish an unworthy thought 
In presence of these everlasting hills ? 
Calmness and strength unto his soul are brought, 
And God the silence fills. 

Be still my soul ! offer thine incense too, 
When vapor-wreaths from these grand altars rise, 
Reflect thy God, as mountain meres the blue 
Of the o'er-bending skies. 

He is so near and earth so far away, 

I bid all lesser aspirations cease ; 

My God ! Thy word of promise* is my stay ; 

Thy mountains bring me peace. 

A. L. S. 

* "As the mountains are around about Jerusalem, so the Lord is 
round about his people from henceforth even forever." 



THE OCTOBER SNOW. 

THE green leaf lies upon the snow ; 
The yellow leaf, the purple leaf, 
The scarlet-dashed, gold-bordered leaf — 
Lie side by side upon the snow. 

The imprint of the frozen leaf, 
Sun-kissed and blown from where it fell, 
Shows ice-veined outline where it fell — 

Frail imprint of the frozen leaf. 

Our lives are brief — like leaves on stone 
Ice-veined — and melting in the sun 
We pass like snow before the sun 

Scarce held in memory by a stone ! 

The icy grasp of winter yields. 
Green leaves return — sweet flowerets bloom — 
And we again with Spring shall bloom 

For Death to Life Immortal yields ! 

J. P. B. 



A NOVEMBER PICTURE. 



THE envious frost hath stolen the royal coat 
Rich-hued, wherewith fond Autumn had 
arrayed 

The kingly mountain with so grand parade 
Of gold and crimson ; yet 'tis decked, I note, 
With wealth on which a miser's eye might gloat. 

In silver robe, with glittering pearls inlaid. 

The brilliant clouds that round the sunset played, 
Now fading, faintly round his bright crest float. 
The fields are not all brown — a silvery sheen 

Glitters and gleams upon their bosoms bare ; 

The oriole's nest swings from the maple bough-, 
A birdlike leaf, still fluttering there, is seen ; 

The old elm waves its boughs with graceful care ; 

Cold beauties linger o'er the landscape now. 



104 A NOVEMBER PICTURE. 

II. 

When grief hath stolen from joy the golden flush 
Which youth's bright morning had so richly 

crowned, 
She looks to find all bleak and bare around ; 
But lo ! sweet memories o'er the spirit rush, 
Like south winds in late autumn. Grief may crush 
Full many a spring-nursed bud, but cannot wound 
The root of joy. There yet may bud and blush, 
With a fresh tint of beauty, many a flower 
That, like the crimson clouds which softly rest 
On icy mount, shall cheer with rosy bloom. 
Some leaf of hope, with frost-defying power. 
Shall ever cling to the deserted nest. 
Some joys be left to light November gloom. 

J. P. B. 



SILENCE. 

"my soul waiteth upon god." 

Tsalm LXII. : i. The marginal reading is — ''My soul keepeth 
silence unto God,'') 

MY soul keeps silence unto Thee, my God ! 
As lutes are silent till the master's power 
Wakes to sweet music each responsive chord. 

A refuge art Thou in the darkest hour, 
And fondly trusting where I cannot see. 
Would I keep silence, oh my God, to Thee ! 

Thus on my spirit shall repose descend, 
Like the deep hush that on the forest falls, 

Lulling the birdling which its shades befriend, 
While stillness steals throughout the leafy halls, 

Until at last the genial summer shower 

Shall send a richer life through bud and flower. 

Or as in moments that precede the dawn. 

When seas are silent, and the winds are calm, 

Not now the flush and triumph of the morn. 
Yet is the air enriched with choicest balm ; 



I06 SILENCE. 

Nor shall dark shadows from the streamlet bar 
The gentle radiance of some lingering star; 

But soon the joyous birds, in concert sweet, 
Shall hail the coming of the glorious sun ; 

His royal rising the glad waters greet ; 
Each sends on high a fervent orison. 

The wakened wind an argosy shall be. 

To bear its treasures o'er the shining sea. 

So in the morning twilight of the soul, 

Would I keep silence, oh my God ! to Thee, 
That thus some starry promise may unroll, 

Its beauty and its brilliancy for me ; 
And from my mind, with all its various powers, 
Shall rise sweet incense as the breath of flowers, 
Till God's own glory gilds the glowing hours ! 

A. L. S. 



"I PASS THIS WAY BUT ONCE." 

THIS way! 
Where sweet-breathed violets usher in the 
Spring, 
Where Summer roses spicy fragrance bring, 
Where Autumn blooms in richest colors blend. 
Where Winter's snowy robes their beauty lend, 
I pass this way but once ! 

This way ! 
Where melting love looks out from beaming eyes, 
Where Sorrow's sympathy brings glad surprise. 
Where mothers, with full souls their children press^ 
Where little hearts give back the fond caress, 
I pass this way but once ! 

This way ! 
Where joy, the purest, richest, most sincere. 
Is soonest followed by the scalding tear ; 



Io8 / PASS THIS WA Y BUT ONCE. 

Where the warm crimson tide a breath may chill, 
Where swift disease the rapid pulse may still, 
I pass this way but once ! 

This way ! 
Where '' silent cities " ever grow apace, 
Beside each noisy town whose beauty, grace 
And strength are taxed the noiseless growth to aid, 
With stern demand that may not be gainsayed, 
I pass this way but once ! 

This way ! 
Where words of tenderness may prove a balm, 
Where look of love the grief-tossed heart may calm, 
Where 'neath the Rock the sin-sick soul may hide, 
Where Prayer the gate of pearl throws open wide, 
I pass this way but once ! 

This way ! 
Where pilgrim steps may never backward turn ; 
Sweet friends, shall not our souls within us burn 
To scatter, as we go, what good we may. 
And lay up treasures for a brighter day ; 
We pass this way but once I 

J. P. B. 



^*GIVE ME GREAT THOUGHTS!" 

Herder, when about to die, exclaimed with great disquiet, " Give 
me great thotights ! " 

GIVE me great thoughts! have I not felt the 
power 
Which nature holds, life's fever to control, 
When with her starry eyes in some still hour 
She seemed to read the secrets of my soul, 
And evil thoughts and sombre fled away, 
As spectres vanish at the dawn of day ? 
Give me great thoughts ! 

Give me great thoughts !— the holy and the high ! 
Since nature's teachings have to me been given. 
And lofty mountain and the solemn sky 
And silent night, have raised my hopes to Heaven ; 
And I have heard the voice of God with awe, 
In rolling thunder, or in ocean's roar ; 
Forbid ! Forbid ! sweet Nature, I should be 
A truant scholar, and unworthy thee ! 
Give me great thoughts ! 



no GIVE ME GREAT THOUGHTS. 

Give me great thoughts ! — lest the dear spell be 

broken. 
Which sweetly charms the spirit from unrest ; 
For lofty beings to my heart have spoken — 
Have left their works to me — a rich bequest ! 
And they have made my soul a holy shrine ; 
Guard well thy precious trust ! oh spirit mine ! 
Guard their great thoughts ! 

The thoughts which they the dead of long ago, 
The dwellers of Eternity, have given ; 
They who have toiled, have suffered here below, 
How sweet their rest ! how great their joy in 

Heaven ! 
And still on earth they live — with them I smile ; 
I weep with them, and hear them speak the while 
Of a bright country, where they weep no more ; 
Oh, holy dead ! oh, gifted ones of yore ! 
Give more great thoughts ! 

Great thoughts while living ! let some angel stir 
The hidden fount of thought within my soul, 
Till through my efforts some poor sufferer 
From sin's dread sickness be at last made whole ; 



GIVE ME GREA T THOUGHTS. 1 1 I 

Till many a child of grief is brought to Thee, 
Through thy sweet influence, Saviour, blessing me 
With holy thoughts. 

Give me great thoughts when dying ! when for me 
Earth's flowers bloom, earth's voices charm no 

more ; 
When to my soul speaks vast Eternity, 
As I stand silenced by the billow's roar. 
Though night shuts in, and all is dark and wild, 
Still with great thoughts upstay thy shrinking child 
Oh Saviour ! who the path of death hath trod. 
Give me great thoughts ere I go home to God : 
Give me great thoughts ! 

A. L. s. 



ROBBING THE WOODS. 

SWEET blossoms of the mountain, 
Of forest, glade and dell 
I cannot let you all remain 

In the homes you grace so well. 

I rob the rocky benches 

Of the nodding columbine, 
And its gold and scarlet chalices 

With feathery fern entwine. 

These fair azaleas, blushing 
With wealth of rosy bloom. 

Shall from their swaying censers 
Shake perfume through my room. 

I steal the purple crow-foot 

Nodding in glad assent, 
Revealing long-spurred violets 

Under its leafy tent. 



ROBBING THE WOODS. 113 

This bishop's-cap I pilfer 

From its bed of starry moss ; 
Its slender raceme shall for me 

Its snowy mitres toss. 

Here 'neath a clump of birches 

Giving me glad surprise, 
A pair of lady's slippers greet 

My blossom-hunting eyes. 

And here I steal an acorn 

From the damp and chilly earth. 

To bid it tell the secret 

Of the mighty forest's birth, 

As I watch its tender plumule 

Reach upward in my glass, 
While its fibrous rootless float below 

A white and tangled mass. 

So I make a free confession, 

And scruple not to tell 
How I plunder vale and mountain 

And the cool and mossy dell. 

J. P. B. 



MAY. 

A RUSH last night of pinions sweeping by. 
And Winter pass'd with a grim retinue ! 
He holds his court where Arctic skies imbue 
The flashing snows with Tropic brilliancy, 
And orange morns with crimson sunsets vie. 
The wizard-king has left his daughters three, 
And grants to each awhile the regency ; 
His daughters three, like those our Shakespeare 

drew : 
Fierce are the eyes of March, as Goneril's eyne; 
April like Regan, falser is than fair; 
True as Cordelia's smiles, May's glances shine ; 
Ermine he left with those, and jewels rare, 
l)Ut to his youngest. May, gives power to free 
'1 he flowers they leave in drear captivity. 

A. L. S, 



o 



WATCH FOR THE DOVE. 

PEN the window and take in the dove 
She flies to the ark 

With a weary wing ; 
O'er the waters dark 

Not a living thing, 
Not a shrub, not a bough, 

Not a spray of green ; 
No cradle of rest 

Has the wanderer seen ; 
Take in the dove. 



Open the window and take in the dove ; 
She flies to the ark 

With a lighter wing. 
She is coming a message 

Of hope to bring, 
A leaf from the olive, 

Sweet token of love ; 



Il6 WATCH FOR THE DOVE, 

Green tree-tops are waving 
The waters above ; 

Take in the dove. 

Open the window and watch for the dove ; 
With a joyful wing 

She has cleft the air, 
Sunshine and gladness 

Everywhere ; 
She returns no more, 

For a world of green 
In fresh bright beauty 

The bird has seen. 
We may bid farewell 

To the storm-tried ark, 
It will float no more 
O'er the waters dark ; 
Turn from the window and open the door, 
Follow the dove and return no more ; 
Follow the dove ! 



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